


Aziraphale’s Holiday

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [19]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst Lite, Aziraphale-centric (Good Omens), Celestials Bad At Communication, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Armageddidn’t, Postcard-sending, Traveling, ineffable husbands, no beta we crash and burn like Dick Turpin, pinning and waiting, ×love confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: Aziraphale goes off to see the world. And Crowley? Crowley waits.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515578
Comments: 8
Kudos: 121





	Aziraphale’s Holiday

And so it was that on the third month after Armageddon was thwarted that the Angel began to entertain the thought of Going On Holiday. It was not till the fourth month that he actually started making plans to do so, and upon the approach of the fifth month, the Angel took the Demon out for coffee and said unto him, “I’ve decided to do a bit of travelling this year.”

“Oh, yeah? Where to?”

Aziraphale beamed. “Everywhere. Now that we know it all isn’t going away, and I- I haven’t exactly got a job to do anymore, I can spend time meandering around the world as I please. Perhaps see things I’ve missed while I’ve been here. Try something new! Get a bit of me time, you know?”

Crowley had no idea why the last sentence stung, but it did. “Me time?”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale took a dainty sip of his cappuccino. “Oh, don’t look so surprised.”

“D- do I look surprised?”

“You do, rather.” The angel set his cup down, “You know I never actively left London because this is where I was assigned. But if I’d had it my way— oh, I’d have loved to see more than the Western Hemisphere. Can you believe, six thousand years and I’ve only been to Asia once. America, twice. Africa, once.”

“Did you bless the rains down there or something?” Crowley drawled.

“Australia and Oceania— never! And I know I was there when it was all created, but we’ve seen the Middle East and Italy and other parts of Europe from a more human perspective and not any of those other places I mentioned. It should be grand fun. A little well-deserved vacation to indulge in the world we’ve saved.”

He said ‘we’ an awful lot for someone who was talking about ‘me time.’ Crowley kept his head lowered slightly, his posture and dark sunglasses helping to efficiently mask his expression. Well, to be fair, Crowley had taken off on random jaunts across the world at his whim, leaving his assignments in London with the promise that trouble would be made wherever he’d go, and not informing Aziraphale or asking him to come along. The fact that Aziraphale was sharing his plans and excitement was already more than Crowley had ever thought to do. But of course. He was an angel.

They were grown-up celestial beings. They could take care of themselves.

So Crowley just cleared his throat and said, “Okay, so when are you leaving? And d’you need me to do anything while you’re away?”

“No,” said Aziraphale lightly. “That won’t be necessary, my dear. Everything should be perfectly fine.”

* * *

Aziraphale said he would go, and so he went. For once Crowley didn’t overstep his bounds— Aziraphale made it clear that he didn’t need anything from him, and so Crowley wouldn't offer. Not dinner to see Aziraphale off before his flight. Not a ride to the airport. Not a friend’s contact number in a distant country, who might be able to look after Aziraphale when Crowley could not. One day Aziraphale was there and the next, he wasn’t.

Aziraphale packed a single roller suitcase and a knapsack— both bigger on the inside, of course— and planned a vague course across the globe, starting across the channel in France (somewhere familiar and comfortable) and growing bolder and more adventurous as he practically ate his way through Eastern Europe. And for once he didn’t have a plan— just a vague course that would take him effectively from one continent to another.

He expected to get tired out. He predicted he’d get as far as Romania, think ‘right, that’s it’, and pack up for a direct flight home to London. But there were some things even such a fastidious angel wasn’t prepared for, and one of those things was sheer wanderlust.

So, for the first time without worrying of the consequences, Aziraphale followed his curiosity where it led him. Through arrival gates at foreign airports, customs processed in different languages. Through crowded city streets to quiet country lanes. At the doors of museums, art galleries, palaces, cultural centres. To temples both humble and lavish built to saints and gods and every version of the Almighty that humanity could perceive. From as high as he could get without using his wings— Sears Tower, Burj Khalifa, the tip of Kilmanjaro. From white sand beaches of the Philippines to black pebble ones in Iceland, to majestic cliffs in Ireland to lush rainforests in Brazil. From every glaring, lasting, painful piece of evidence of the atrocities humanity had committed on one another, to the monuments celebrating the selflessness and courage that they shared to overcome hardship. From fancy hotels to roach-eaten backpacker’s lodges to trams and trains and rickshaws and cabs and ferries. He had all the time in the world, and he took it, staying a week at most in every major city he could take a flight or a train ride to from the last place.

And wherever he lingered, Aziraphale made sure to send a postcard back to Crowley.

* * *

It hadn’t occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale would think of sending postcards. The first one arrived from Greece, with a picture of the Acropolis in front. They soon became something for him to look forward to, even if Aziraphale’s return date was yet to be decided. Crowley would get them on his way out, chucking a bunch of bills addressed to ‘Anthony Cowwley’ in the front passenger seat of his car, and spending a good long while sitting in the parked Bentley reading Aziraphale’s latest message. Otherwise, however, he went on with his life, driving fast, causing trouble, scaring ducks, watering his plants, and sitting alone in fancy restaurants, unable to order anything more than a glass of wine or the soup of the day.

Two months went by since Aziraphale left, and little by little, a bit like mould growing over the crust of your favourite bread, Crowley actually...began to miss him.

In fact, if he was being really honest, he’d been missing him for a bit longer than that. But Crowley really felt it now, sitting alone at this park bench. Tossing some grain to a posse of already-well-fed ducks. Remembering quite suddenly a memory from 1825 or so, and turning to Aziraphale to share it, only to find an empty space beside him...

London, cold and grey at the best of times, was positively _monochrome_ without his angel.

* * *

Aziraphale met a lot of people on his travels. Some of them were fleeting, but memorable encounters on trains or in hotel lobbies or in line to get on a tour bus. Some were snatches of conversation in markets or food courts. He found that most people were eager to make friends, to chat, to provide advice on where to go and what to do. He also did run into some unsavoury, downright impolite characters, and even had a bit of a skirmish in Venice when someone attempted to rob him (Aziraphale grabbed firm hold of the fellow’s arm and politely requested him to keep his hands to himself, and the thief spent the rest of the week in a daze trying to rid himself of a terrifying vision of a hundred flaming eyes) but on the whole, he found himself crossing paths with some truly delightful people. Some basic human instinct, perhaps passed down from when a distant ancestor fled a garden and was handed a flaming sword for protection, might have assured them that this was a being one could trust.

Always, after he’d said goodbye to a helpful stranger or folded away a scrap of paper with contact details of a potential new friend, Aziraphale wondered what Crowley would think of them. He wondered how Crowley had made his way around the world, being the way he was— on the outside unapproachable, even scary and intimidating; he wondered how Crowley was ever able to get the help he needed, if he needed it. Well, he had his devilish charm, and he could wrap just about anyone round his finger if he wanted to...and if he wanted nothing to do with you, well, you were sure to feel that, too.

Aziraphale sat on a balcony in Mexico City and listened to a band playing on the street, and he smiled as he thought about Crowley. He’d always relied on him, their friendship was stronger than ever now that neither of them were working for their sides. But that was precisely why Aziraphale wanted to leave London and travel wherever took his fancy. A part of him wanted to try new things outside of the usual comforts that had always defined him. Who was he without the books, without the shop, without Crowley, without Heaven?

Just as plenty of people in the world had gotten to know Mr. A.Z. Fell, Aziraphale got to know himself, too.

* * *

Crowley’s only knowledge of Aziraphale’s whereabouts were informed by the postcards he received. He just got one from Singapore. As a hub for international business and tourism, the place was rife with opportunity for temptation. Knowing Aziraphale, though, that angel would sow harmony and kindness wherever he went. And it wasn’t hard to believe that any place became one hundred times better just by him being in it.

It certainly tended to get at least ten times worse when he left.

So, while Aziraphale was watching fireworks from Marina Bay, Crowley drove to the bookshop for the first time in weeks. He snapped his fingers and the doors opened.

A tremor of alarm ran up the spines of each and every book that saw Crowley come in, alone and without Aziraphale.

Crowley merely put his hands on his hips. “So, guys,” he said. “Who needs a good dusting?”

* * *

Little by little, as Aziraphale crept up along North America, thoughts of home started to frequent his mind. His bookshop, the familiar walls, the way the sunlight came through the windows. The sound of the Bentley rumbling outside. The bell over the door tinkling as Crowley came in with that careless, confident saunter of his. _Lovely weather today. Had the best nap of my life. What’re you up to, Angel?_

_Angel?_

_Angel?_

Aziraphale lay in a bed he didn’t need in a motel room that had seen better days, and sighed. What had happened there? For a moment he seemed certain that he’d discovered who he truly was outside of Heaven’s influence. But seven months and six continents later, he still felt like the same old principality who wanted the same old things. He’d been happy on his travels, happier than he’d been in a long time, but that wasn’t to say he’d never be happy in London, either. London meant home, and familiarity, and peace— and it meant Crowley.

_I miss my best friend._

And so it was on the seventh month of his travels that the Angel knew he’d had his fill. He had journeyed across all of Almighty’s creation and found all of it worthy of praise. He had seen the world, and it was good.

And now, it was time to go home.

* * *

Aziraphale landed in London on an autumn day. The wind was brisk as he alighted a cab at the curb of the bookshop, paid the driver with thanks and wheeled up his little suitcase to the shop doors. Home, he thought happily. He’d open those doors and make a cup of cocoa, unpack his bags and set things to rights, and then, he’d pick up the phone and call Crowley—

“We’re closed,” a voice barked as Aziraphale entered. “Come back tomorrow, or nev— Aziraphale!”

The angel stared, stunned, as Crowley took his feet off the desk with a startled yelp and got ungracefully to his feet. He had a feather duster in one hand.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale finally stammered. “What are you doing here?” The demon lowered his head and mumbled a response. “What was that?”

“‘M minding the shop.” 

“Why? Did something bad happen while I was away?” Aziraphale looked around, alarmed. Nothing seemed to be wrong...in fact, the bookshop was perfectly imperfect. And Crowley, standing here, looking just as he always did— looking so perfect himself...

“No, I actually came here to keep an eye on things,” said Crowley. “Make myself useful, y’know...how was, how was your trip?” He tossed the feather duster over his shoulder, put his hands on his hips casually.

“Oh, it was grand,” sighed Aziraphale happily. “I had a wonderful time. But don’t tell me all you did was sit around in shop while I was away!”

“That’s not all I did,” said Crowley defensively. “I just come back from time to time, look after it and all. Open the shop just to scare people off. I tell you, if I was still working for Hell, that’d get me tons of commendations...” he chuckled. “Well, you’re back, so the fun’s over. I’ll leave you to it. The lads missed you.” He waved a hand around at the books, patiently waiting in their shelves for the angel’s return. Much like Crowley had done, really.

Wait. No. Stay. “But I have so much to tell you,” Aziraphale blurted out, “I thought I might take you to dinner and— and regale you with delightful tales of my holiday.”

Crowley instantly looked awkward. “Ah, um...maybe- maybe next time, Angel?” He said. “I just realised there’s a thing I gotta do...now that you’re here, the shop will be fine—“

“The shop’s always been fine. It has my blessing.”

“Could always use a demonic miracle or two. Guardian devil looking out for it, and all. Didn’t expect you to be back this early, really.” Crowley slid his phone off the desk and tucked it into the pocket of his blazer. The front pockets of his jeans were for his hands.

”Well, the novelty of living in other places did have its charm,” said Aziraphale, leaning the suitcase against a wall, “but after some time I ended up missing London, and the shop...and the books...and the restaurants...and- and you, I suppose.”

Crowley raised one perfect eyebrow. “Me. Huh. And that...that was the deciding factor in finally booking the flight home?”

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale confessed. “I just had a touch of longing for the way things used to be. So, in light of that— let me take you out tonight.”

There was a long pause, in which Aziraphale looked expectant and Crowley looked— well, he looked rather wronged, actually. Betrayed, almost.

“Yeah,” he finally said, “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?” said Aziraphale, puzzled.

“Just— just bugger off on an impromptu holiday, drop in a postcard whenever you feel like it and then come home expecting everything to be the same again—“

“Did you not like the postcards?”

“Like them? I loved them, Angel. Especially the one with the dolphin. But that’s not my point!”

“What is your point, then?”

“Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”

The walls of the shop rang with Crowley’s voice, and Aziraphale was certain the books were fluttering with terror in their shelves. He faced Crowley indignantly but the demon was already marching up to him. “I asked you— begged you— to run away with me before. Don’t you know that nothing would have made sense if I left without you? Or did you really mean it when you said we weren’t friends? Is that why you wouldn’t go with me? Is that why you left without me now?”

“I never said I was going for good,” Aziraphale retorted. “I always told you I’d be back. I didn’t ask you to sit here and mind the books and take care of business for me— you could have done anything you wanted. Anything, without me trying to thwart you. That was kind of the point of all this, Crowley! I left to figure out who I was,” he said. “Whilst I was gone, I thought it would give you time to figure out who you were, too.”

Crowley’s gaze was yellow and angry behind those dark lenses, Aziraphale was sure. “Oh, I know who I am. And I know that I’m bloody useless without you. Why didn’t you even just...ask?”

“Oh come on, Crowley!” Aziraphale blurted out. “The two of us, travelling the world together? I would have just slowed you down.”

He hadn’t meant to say that, but now that it was out, he did mean it.

The demon stuck his hands into his pockets. “You think you know me so well, Aziraphale,” he said at last. “And maybe you know me better than anyone, but you don’t know the most important things.”

“Like what?”

“Like that I love you, you bastard.”

Well, Crowley hadn’t exactly meant to say that, either. But he sighed and shook his head as Aziraphale stared at him, unable to believe what he’d just heard.

“Well,” mumbled Crowley. “There it is.” He made to leave, but Aziraphale stepped in the way of the door.

“You love me?” he said quietly.

“Yes. Said that, didn’t I?” He took his sunglasses off, and there were those eyes, longing and tender and hurt in a way that made Aziraphale ache. “But you would have never believed it. Coming from me, a demon.”

“Crowley.”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugged. “Never going to be good enough, me. Always going to be what I am— a wicked, wily snake who made the mistake of falling for—“

Aziraphale kissed him. Neither of them knew how he’d managed to bridge the space between them so suddenly, but he was there— Crowley could feel him, the softness of him, the strength of him, the static on his coat left over from a long airplane ride. And it should not have been enough to apologise, or to make up for pain that Aziraphale didn’t know he caused. But one thing was for sure— it was enough to keep a demon from getting away.

Then, earnest and desperate, Crowley was kissing him back, trembling fingers winding in the lapels of his coat as he kissed hard and deep and devoted into Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale let him. He tasted the sweetness of unsaid words, the salt of unshed tears.

“You,” Crowley said, when they broke away, “really are the worst.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you by going away,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m sorry.” He pulled away just enough to look Crowley in the eyes, “So would you have said yes? If I’d asked you?”

“Yes. In a heartbeat.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind this much. I’ve always known you cared,” Aziraphale said softly, “but you’re usually...you’re so good at being by yourself.” 

Crowley chuckled, a dry sound that could have been mistaken for a sob. “Yeah, right. Says the guy who lasted two months without his best friend before sneaking into his place. It’s like I said, remember? Bloody useless without you. Was it— was it the same with you?”

Aziraphale’s hands splayed across the broad of Crowley’s back, over the the curve of his ribs near the shoulder blades. “Not exactly. You’ll be so proud of how I got by on my own. I even stopped a pick-pocket from picking mine.” He delighted in the way Crowley’s soft chuckle reverberated through his chest. “But in the end I realised I liked being the way I‘ve always been. I’m sorry that it took me a trip around the world to be sure of where home really was.”

“And where is it?” Crowley asked, although his heart was already singing with the answer.

“It’s here,” Aziraphale said. “It’s with you.”

Crowley rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “You’re a bastard,” was all he said, but he was smiling.

“I’m a selfish, blind idiot.”

“Uh-huh? Trip around the world to figure out who you are, and you find that you’re an idiot?” Crowley tsked affectionately, brushing Aziraphale’s hair from his face.

“I have much to answer for, my dear. And I don’t mind answering for it. Over and over until it makes up,” Aziraphale whispered.

“D’you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Well.” Crowley pressed in close, whispered in Aziraphale’s ear like he’d been doing it for years. “What about taking a little vacation?” 

Aziraphale laughed. “Why not. I know a lovely place in Tangiers. And a spectacular bed and breakfast in Kyoto. And a sublime crepe cafe in Paris. You might find it familiar.”

“And would I go too fast for you?”

Aziraphale bowed his head. “No, Crowley, you won’t. And I shan’t slow you down, either.”

At this Crowley buried his hands in Aziraphale’s hair and kissed him again, thoroughly and soundly.

“Darling,” Aziraphale sighed, as Crowley tilted his head back and kissed his throat.

“Just ask me, Angel, and I’ll take you anywhere you want,” he whispered. “I’ll show you all the kingdoms of the world.”

And he did, eventually. When they left together on another journey, from London to everywhere else.

But now they were kissing in the sun-drenched foyer of the bookshop, and Aziraphale, for so long out of reach, was now in his arms.

And then the bell over the door tinkled as someone peered in curiously. Crowley stopped kissing long enough for both of them to cry out “We’re closed!” The would-be customer squeaked in surprise, and scurried away.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Wankers. Complete and utter wankers.”

Aziraphale grinned. He was home, all right.


End file.
